


Pictures of Matchstick Men (redux)

by spacemonkey



Category: U2
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-22 22:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13773720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: Edge thought it maddening, how quickly the guilt came and, worse, how quickly it was replaced, and there was never shame when he pictured it in the dark.A selection of moments taken from Bono and Edge's relationship, from the beginning to now.(This is a revised version of my fic of the same name, written back in early 2016)





	1. Technicolour Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this fic almost two years ago and loved it then, but in the time since all I've been able to see are the flaws in it. I didn't want to end up hating this fic, because I really do think it's a great idea, so I decided to rewrite it, because I am me! And I've found it really interesting to compare how my writing was then to how it is now, with two years experience (and some higher education under my belt . . .), and I've kept the original version up for that reason. It actually makes me feel quite proud when I realize how much I have grown in my writing. As a side note, I found myself a bit emotional while rewriting this, because the original had been written pre-Bono's mortality scare when all I had to deal with was his bike accident. It was hard to separate the two whilst writing about Bono...compromised, even a little. Our dear boy, we love him so xx
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this revised little big fic. Some things have changed a bit, some things have stayed, others have been expanded on. Hopefully it all turns out alright in the end xxx

Edge was desperate to focus on something else, and he could still hear it when he closed his eyes—that oh-so familiar riff that he’d known for so long that it felt like a part of him now. He remembered well the night spent trying to capture the riff back when he could barely play three chords. The session had spilled into the next day, longer, and his family had never quite listened to Status Quo the same way after that. But eventually, he had made it work. He had found it, figured it out.

The melody had been right there to be discovered, with his eyes closed and the shift of his hands becoming familiar with each stop and start, the sound bouncing off the walls of his bedroom and then the kitchen, and then back into his bedroom after a quiet word from his father. It shouldn’t have taken him so long to figure out, not when the song was so simple. Edge couldn’t even remember how old he had been when he’d stumbled across that melody, but he doubted more than ten years had passed since that night, that following morning.

He had been waiting for his drink downstairs in the hotel bar when it had started to play. That oh-so familiar riff. Edge knew it far too well. And he loved it too much to not acknowledge it when it played in public, so he had accompanied the beat with his fingertips against the bar until the glass was in his hand. The first thing he had spotted when he turned around was Bono across the room, watching him. Edge had known what was coming immediately. He knew Bono.

The glass had been raised, the crooked smile had emerged. That was Bono. Predictable until he wasn’t. Edge had started on through the crowd with his own glass raised, wearing a smile that wasn’t nearly as crooked, nor as charming. At least Edge had figured it wasn’t, anyway. He’d not had a mirror to go by.

An hour or two had passed them by in no time. Hadn’t he just crossed the room to take a seat not five minutes before? How had they gotten here so fucking quickly? His lips were tingling. He couldn’t get enough air in. In his head was that melody, that oh-so familiar riff repeating again and again, threatening to drag him straight on to madness. He tried to stay with it, tried to remember the lyrics, but all that came to mind was the chords and the way that Bono's expression had changed, so _quickly_.

Bono hadn’t moved. He was still too close, his chest heaving with each breath. Edge could smell the whiskey on him. He could taste it when he licked his lips. He hadn’t thought to ever prepare himself for such a moment, and that had been a mistake.

 “Edge.”

Bono was looking at Edge now the way he often looked at crossword puzzles. His right hand was still splayed back against the wall, his left raised like it had forgotten its purpose.

Edge took a step back. He wasn’t sure what else to do. What else could he do? He wiped his mouth and stared at Bono, waiting for those shoulders to sag, and when nothing changed between them he turned and walked from the room.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so grateful to see an empty hallway. His ears were buzzing like they had just finished a set. It was one foot in front of the other, take it slow, remember to be careful now. He’d drank more on other nights really. He still had his wits about him. One foot in front of the other. His fingers trailing down the wall. Not your room, keep walking. Careful now. Just focus on the melody.

He reached his door, double checking the room number before struggling to fit the key into the lock. He still had his wits about him though.

He was still feeling the wall for the light switch when the door closed behind him, briefly bathing the room in darkness. And then the Lord said, let there be light. Edge didn’t bother taking off his shoes. He didn’t bother with his jacket. He just sat down on the bed and waited for the room to stop spinning.

It had to stop eventually. When would it stop spinning? He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, counting to five and then allowing himself that one second longer before letting the air rush out. When he opened his eyes the world seemed almost normal for that brief, shining moment. He could see himself in the mirror, red-cheeked and tilted slightly to the left. Just another reminder of the night. He had to look away, down to his fists. He stared until he felt the bite, bringing his hands up to his face as his fingers unfurled. The little half-moons left on his palms faded quickly, leaving him without a distraction.

It was like he was wearing the wrong person. His skin was crawling. The whiskey taste was gone from his mouth. That familiar feeling was rising. He couldn’t be sick. He could feel the sweat beginning to bead on his upper lip. It wasn’t the night to be sick. A deep breath, and then another. The urge was gone. But god, if he still didn’t look like a sorry sight. Edge didn’t know why hotels insisted on placing mirrors where they did. He didn’t know why anyone did anything really.

What was it like to experience life the way Bono did? To dive in headfirst and be loud until he wasn’t? Edge was never sure of the right words even as he was saying them. They brought a smile or they didn’t. They had this time. 

He’d been on his fourth drink, maybe his fifth, when Bono had leaned in close to whisper, “Constant reassurance, Edge.” That smile had stayed even after his hand had left Edge’s thigh. A mistake. It had been nothing more than one giant mistake.

 “Edge?” A knock on the door followed, soft and not at all like Bono’s usual rat-a-tat. “Edge, listen.”

They were five floors up. Sometimes Edge missed the nights in the back of a van, pressed up together for lack of space. He’d been able to escape back then. Now, he was stuck five floors up with nowhere to run. He listened carefully as he pushed himself up from the bed, but the silence kept on. It was one foot in front of the other, straight on towards the closed door.

There had been nights after the van where the rooms were so cold that they had chosen a single bed and huddled under the covers, where they had talked about the ways and hopes of the future. It had usually been Bono that had fallen asleep first, and sometimes he had even petered off mid-sentence.

Edge was almost certain that he would soon hear the familiar snores coming through the door. It would be better than silence, at least. He wasn’t sure what to do with a silent Bono. He wasn’t sure what to do, period. And there it was, that feeling bubbling within him, an urge to laugh that had come out of nowhere. It was damn near impossible to hold back, but he did, and with that urge went all of his panic. He felt suspiciously normal. Calm.

Zen-like, Bono might have called it once or twice. And as quickly as it had hit him it was gone. He could hear the thump of heavy footsteps through the door, heading back his way. In his chest he felt an incredibly odd sensation, like something one might experience moments before their heart exploded. He didn’t know, he just didn’t know how to—

“Edge, come on. I’m not mad at you.” Bono’s voice was different in a way that Edge just couldn’t place. He’d never heard it like that before, and he’d gotten to twenty four confident that he’d heard every which way that Bono’s voice could go. “I’m not, I just—look, I locked myself out of my room, alright?”

The wood was cool against Edge’s forehead. He knew he had to open the door. Tonight or tomorrow were the only options he had left, and they both knew that Bono could very well keep up the chatter for hours, just as well as he could stretch out on the worn carpet of a hotel hallway and spend the night. Get it out of the way. Tear off that band-aid fast. The quicker the better, his mum had always said. He wasn’t mad. Edge breathed deeply. Bono wasn’t mad.

Edge opened the door. The smile he was greeted with was not the one he had expected to see. “I can come in?” Bono asked. His eyes were shot through, he grabbed at the doorframe with an unsteady hand, and it was then that Edge realized he didn’t have a plan. Oh, he had ideas, sure, ideas that he regretted as soon as they appeared. He stepped aside, and Bono’s smile kept as he shuffled on in. It wasn’t right. _He_ wasn’t right.

Edge was halfway across the room by the time the door closed. Bono’s steps were slow behind him. It was a struggle to remember how much they had both had. Guinness, whiskey, whiskey, tequila—one shot or two? And then what? More whiskey? He heard Bono stumble slightly, just like he had on the way out of the lift, his eyes bright, his grip tight. He’d laughed until his cheeks had turned. What would his reaction be if Edge just left?

 “Edge.”

Through the window Edge could see the city still shining brightly, even at such a late hour. He had to ask. “Did you really lock yourself out?” In the silence that followed that urge to laugh came close to consuming him. They both knew that the answer didn’t really matter. Edge hadn’t believed Bono’s excuse for a second. “You don’t have to lie, you know.”

 “I know.”

When Edge turned from the window he found Bono sitting on the bed, his thighs pressed tight, his feet splayed, the smile long gone. He looked as small as he was, as small as he never looked. It didn’t seem right to continue on the way that Edge had meant to. Throwing accusations around until something stuck. But he couldn’t stop himself. Still, it was a struggle to get the words out. “Then why do you?”

Bono kept his gaze on the carpet, rubbing his palms together as he thought it through. It had been a mistake. To ask, to do. All of it. Edge knew he had no right. He could have left. He could have stayed at the bar. He could have used his brain, _listened_ to himself to keep from ending up where they were.

They both had a few years until thirty, but there was Bono looking more drained than he had any right to be at his age. It just wasn’t right. And it was almost a relief when Bono finally looked up, a wry smile on his face as he shrugged his left shoulder only. The defeat was gone, yet the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He just looked lost. With one eyebrow raised, he asked, “Why do _you_?”

 

* * *

 

 Edge had always thought that it was incredible how the human brain worked. The way that it stored memories away for years at a time in those secret compartments where all good things went to hide, only for those memories to resurface at the appearance of a forgotten scent or a random phrase.

It was like stepping back in time, if only for a moment, reliving those long-lost experiences even as he walked into the kitchen and immediately forgot why he came. He could never remember people or faces, or the name of that perfume Morleigh wore when he was shopping for presents and such information was vitally important. Her laughter over the phone, her pretend surprise on Christmas morning, these were the things that made Edge love her all the more.

“It comes with aging, memory loss does,” Norman had told him regrettably one evening, causing Bono to laugh and laugh.

“No, Norman, I don’t think aging has much to do with it in this case. It’s just how Edge has always been.”

It seemed that Edge was the kettle and Bono was the pot. And when Bono had smiled at him afterwards, in a way that had done countless times over the years, Edge had been pulled right back to that day when he’d looked across the schoolyard and seen a boy playing guitar. A lifetime had passed, but when Edge thought back to that day, he could still hear that little voice in his head wondering how it was possible that he had more skill with a guitar, yet there Bono was surrounded by all the girls.

It was startling to think how so much of his life had just slipped away. Edge couldn’t recall Hollie losing her first tooth, but he did remember walking through a record store early on, where he’d slipped a copy of _Boy_ to a shelf towards the front, a feeling of shame and euphoria lingering within him long after he’d walked out the door. And when it rained sometimes, he thought of them both on the bus heading home, soaked to the bone and laughing, with their hair plastered down and Bono’s shirt verging on see-through, Edge clinging to a drill as he looked around and saw everyone else holding a sodden umbrella.

He had barely slept, those first few nights after the accident. Television and books had been distracting enough until they weren’t. His phone had never been out of reach. His joints had started to ache after three days, his eyes burning, but after slipping under the sheets exhausted Edge had found himself brutally awake once the lights were off. He had spent half the night checking his phone for the time, calculating how many hours he could get if he just drifted off immediately and slept right on through. It was there in his thoughts that he had stayed safe until he couldn’t anymore, until the desperate hours had arrived.

It was often surprising what sort of things came back to him in those moments. Sometimes it was the things that he wished he could leave firmly in the past where they belonged. But Edge supposed there was a good reason for all the nostalgia.

For the most part, it kept him from imagining all the different ways in which the brain could just stop.

The house was quiet but Bono was smiling. It was a good way to start the day. Ali had been shrugging her coat on when Edge had arrived, pulling him in for a tight hug before starting her balancing act—a rundown of everything that had happened and that needed to happen still to Edge, a _we’re going to be late_ call to the kids. “He’s in a good mood today,” she had said. “You guys need to be downstairs five minutes ago!” she had yelled with that tired smile on her face. Some things never changed.

There had been _hellos_ and _goodbyes_ as the kids had dutifully followed Ali out the door, and then there had been silence. Alone in the foyer, Edge had allowed himself that one solitary moment to just breathe.

With a cup of tea in each hand, he walked into the bedroom with a smile and a _how are you feeling?_ , setting the delicate china down on the bedside table before clearing away the books and pens and notebooks from the bed. He sat down at Bono’s feet and regretted the choice immediately when one foot came up to kick at him from under the covers. “I had a system going there.”

 “You had a mess,” Edge corrected, laughing when Bono kicked him again. His hair was a disaster and his eyes red, but he was smiling and that was all that mattered. “Working on something?”

Bono waved one hand through the air before reaching out to pick up his cup of tea. “Just an idea. Or four. Four ideas.”

“For the tour?”

“Mmm. Maybe some words as well.” He gave Edge a wry smile before dipping his chin towards his cast. “I suppose one could say that this was a blessing in disguise.”

Edge paused. “I suppose.” They both knew the truth. He didn’t have to say it. But he wanted to. He wanted to tell Bono all the ways in which he was wrong. He wanted to be told how much he would never understand. Instead, he stayed quiet, watching as Bono sipped from his cup before looking towards the window. When Edge reached for his own cup, the neat pile of books caught his attention, the notebooks being of particular interest. He was tempted to look, but rarely did he break that trust. Bono usually showed him when he was ready.

“I didn’t think you still wrote in notebooks.”

 “Sometimes I do.” Bono’s voice had turned distant, his gaze still fixed to the window. His eyes were as clear as they had been in weeks, however, and that was something to be thankful for.

Edge downed half his tea before standing up, setting his cup down on the bedside table before coming to sit down close by Bono’s hip. He smiled when Bono glanced his way. “Did I tell you I made a New Year’s resolution?”

Bono raised an eyebrow. “No, you did not.”

“It was to go to church every week,” Edge said in his most earnest voice, and Bono started to laugh. “I could probably catch up with Ali and the kids if I left now.”

“You could probably catch up to her on foot with how she drives.” Bono shook his head, but he was still smiling. “Failed in the first week, Edge. That’s just—it’s sad, is what it is.”

It was calm down along the beach, the waves rolling gently against the sand, and there were only two people in the distance that Edge could see. He doubted that they would walk that far.

They went slow, though Edge was sure that they could go slower still, but he knew what saying anything would get him, so he just held onto Bono’s arm and continued to watch their feet against the sand. “Are you warm enough?” he asked only when he couldn’t bite his tongue a moment longer. The look he received was the one he had anticipated would come. He could only imagine what Bono’s retort was going to be.

“Look at the water,” Bono said instead. It looked the same as it often did, yet Bono just kept on staring.

Edge left him standing there in his green hat and black pea coat and navy pyjama pants that were too thin to completely ward off the cool winter breeze. From a few steps back it wasn’t immediately noticeable that Bono had one sleeve off. Edge took his phone from his coat pocket, snapping one photo and then another, just for the hell of it, smiling when Bono turned his head slightly at the sound of the shutter going off.

It was only when Edge was slipping the phone back into his pocket that he saw it: a single white rock among a small cluster of dark ones. He leaned down to pick up that white rock before taking those few steps forward towards the water. “Here.” He placed the rock in Bono’s right hand.

 “What’s that for?”

Edge shrugged. He didn’t actually know, but he was sure that Bono wasn’t really bothered. “Just stood out,” he said, and the smile he got in return brought Edge right on back to that first day in the schoolyard.

Bono kept the rock in his hand as they walked back along the beach, and it was only when they were nearly home that Edge wrapped his arm around Bono’s waist and pulled him closer. He was doing better, but it still felt like a part of him had slipped away.

Once inside, Edge helped Bono with his shoes and coat before allowing him the freedom to deal with his hat and scarf. He took their cups into the kitchen to rinse out before turning to other matters. The fridge was well stocked like always. Ali had a knack for keeping on top of such things. He had so many options. He had too many options, but it wasn’t a day for deliberation. Edge just didn’t have it in him. So he simply went with just water and fruit, creating a small platter on one of Ali’s serving dishes before heading back into the bedroom.

It was too warm in the house to join Bono under the covers, though when he received a frown it became quickly clear that he had made the wrong choice. He wasn’t easily swayed, however, and Bono knew this. “Can you get the remote?”

For a while they watched television in silence, picking at the fruit from the plate between them. The white rock had been set down next to Bono’s bedside lamp, where Edge knew that he would keep it until he slowly forgot about it, like he did with most little things until Ali tried to throw them away. The news was on, but Edge couldn’t concentrate enough to care about what he was seeing. He was too caught up in listening to Bono breathe.

When he slipped under the covers, the smile that appeared on Bono’s face was impossible to ignore, yet Edge still tried his best. He was sure that he would overheat in no time, but it didn’t matter.

This was where he was supposed to be.

Bono’s hand was sticky, his mouth tasting like oranges, and Edge kissed him again before reaching out a hand to touch his cheek, his jaw, his neck. And he didn’t dare break that gaze as he brought his head down onto the pillow. Edge just kept on looking until Bono’s eyes drifted shut, his smile refusing to leave them both.

 

* * *

 

 Life begins at forty, the old saying went. It was something that Edge had heard more and more in the months leading up to the date, then four times in two hours from one person on his actual birthday, and less and less in the days after. It hadn’t felt like much of a beginning. Those two months or so since his birthday . . .

He had never expected to see such hurt in so little time.

Larry’s whereabouts were a mystery, but Adam was still across the aisle, staring at a magazine so intently that Edge had no doubt that he was looking straight on past the words. He watched Adam squeeze his eyes shut then stare a bit more before giving up completely. They still had an entire country to play to. Edge wasn’t sure how they were going to manage such a huge endeavour. They were already all so fucking tired.

At his side Bono continued to move, tapping his fingers against the arm, shifting in his seat, a hand in his hair, a sigh on his lips. A nervous ball of energy trapped in the sky. His gaze, though, had been mostly out the window from the moment they had taken off their seatbelts, watching the clouds pass them by. He was quick to smile when Edge tapped his hand, although there wasn’t much behind it, and then he was back out the window.

He was still a bit dark behind the eyes. But Edge knew that asking if he was alright would get them both nowhere. That path had been played out for a while now. He was as alright as he could be, as alright as he probably would be for a while. At least he was smiling. And he hadn’t turned Edge away. Far from it. He could have. And if he had, during those painful few days and weeks and months, Edge would have understood completely. He would have been quick to say _I’ll be here when you need me_ , not _I need to be needed by you so I can help you through this_. But no matter what had changed in Bono’s world, it still hadn’t affected them in any bad way. A ball of energy, reaching out a hand for comfort. _Now, Edge, now. I don’t care, let’s just go now. Wherever, I don’t care, I just need . . ._

They still had at least an hour until they landed, but Edge had lost complete interest in the book he was attempting to read. He looked at the back of Bono’s head instead, at the curve of his ear and the line of his jaw, and the thought that immediately came to mind seemed ludicrous until it wasn’t. When he glanced around the cabin he found Adam with his head back and his eyes closed. There was Larry further up, chatting to Sheila. Distracted. The twist in Edge’s stomach felt a lot like anticipation.

He shifted in his seat before glancing back at Bono, and a part of him expected to see Bono staring back, watching him like he knew what was going on up in Edge’s brain. And sometimes he did know, especially when what was going on upstairs had dealings with what was happening downstairs. Other times, Edge knew he mystified Bono completely.

He liked it both ways.

But when he found Bono still looking out at the clouds, Edge very nearly decided not to worry about any of it. As was often the case with such thoughts, however, once it had sprung to mind it was damn near impossible to forget. An hour was a very long time to spend with that one singular idea. Who could predict how that idea would manifest if left to its own devices? Edge could. He knew from past experiences. Years of _what if’s_ and _what could go wrong?_ and _everything, you idiot, so just stop thinking about it_ had given him a fair idea of all the ways in which his mind could travel. And he knew that it would be worth it. It might even take the darkness from Bono’s eyes, if only for those few minutes. Life begins at forty, they always said. How would Edge come closer to finding those new beginnings, if he didn’t listen to the more impulsive part of his mind once in a while?

He leaned in closer, so close that Bono had to turn around. “I think I might go to the loo.”

Bono’s lip quirked. “Incredible. Keep me posted.” He went to turn back towards the window but stopped when Edge’s palm found his thigh.

“I was thinking,” Edge said in a low voice, “that you should join me.”

It took a moment, but when realization hit, it hit big. The smile came, the eyebrows went up, and Bono positively leered as he leaned in closer to murmur, “ _Ooh_ , Mr The Edge,” in Edge’s ear.

Edge was up on his feet before he could even think about overthinking the situation. It was a challenge to keep the grin from his face as he started towards the toilets, a challenge that he failed almost immediately. It felt like everyone’s eyes were on him, watching him smile like a cat who hadn’t just eaten the canary but _devoured_ it, but when he glanced back it was like he hadn’t even moved. No one looked bothered by his sudden absence. In fact, Edge was pretty sure that no one had even taken any notice of him, at all. Which was a good thing, he supposed. No, it was a great thing. They could get away with this without anyone being none the wiser. It was exactly how he wanted it to play out.

Still, there was a part—a very _small_ part—of him that was left disappointed. He was forty years old now, damnit, and it might have been a time when life was meant to begin for him, but it was also a time when he kept finding himself looking in the mirror and thinking _oh god, what happened_? Forty had just seemed so old when he was a kid, although now that he was there he knew that he was still young and sprightly. But still, there was always that little voice in the back of his head, telling him to prove it. _Show them just how frisky you both can still be by being caught having a romp in the airplane toilet, just show them all!_

No one cared. No one but Bono. Which, really, was the most important thing to remember. Bono _definitely_ cared.

Edge shut the bathroom door quietly behind him, leaving it unlocked, and as he waited for his partner in crime the already small space seemed to further shrink around him. It was important to form a plan. He had to think strategically about how they were to go about this whole endeavour. For one thing, they would have to be quick. They would also have to be quiet. The quick part seemed doable, but Edge knew what Bono was like, and Bono knew what _he_ was like. Together they were not stealthy, at all.

They were going to get caught. He knew it. And that very small part of him might have been pleased by such a thought, but it was quickly overruled by the overwhelming majority.

The door opened in his face just as he went to reach for the handle, and Bono slipped inside with the swiftness of a man who had done it all before. He locked the door before turning to face Edge with that _look_ on his face. The canary had been devoured twice in one day. It was ridiculous how one look could make Edge’s doubt start to crumble. Was he really that weak? Not always. Only sometimes. Only now.

“This was a terrible idea,” Edge still insisted, because weak or not he still had _some_ semblance of pride.

“Oh, I agree completely,” Bono said with a wink, and that was that. Edge was done. _We shouldn’t_ were no longer words that he could say to Bono. _We should_ was all the rage. A half-step was all it took for them to be pressed up tightly against one another, and by then it was far too late to look back. A palm against his chest, that smile on Bono’s face. Why hadn’t they done this before? “But it’s one of your better terrible ideas, don’t you think?”

 

* * *

 

 Edge didn’t have to go far to find him, and for that he was thankful. Even after pulling his coat tighter around him, the cold still bit into his ears and nose. And there was Bono without any shoes, his forearms bare. There was Bono, trembling as he looked out at the empty street, chewing absently on a nail that barely had anything left to give. It was a healthier habit than smoking, Edge supposed. Did Bono know that his entire body was shaking?

It was from the cold. It had to be just from the cold. A quick fix, one that Edge was fully equipped to offer. He knew how to warm a person up. A borrowed coat, a warm fire. _Come here._ The heat of his own body. _Come closer . . ._

It had to be from the cold, because Edge just didn’t know how to fix a goddamn thing if it wasn’t.

When he sat down next to Bono the cool of the pavement seeped through his jeans far too quickly. _Come inside_ , he wanted to say. _Come inside before it’s too late_. The words just didn’t eventuate. He knew he had to wait. For what, he wasn’t sure, but Edge knew that something was always just around the corner when Bono was concerned. It was one of the few constants that he could count on in life.

He waited, but Bono simply kept looking straight on ahead. His finger had left his mouth, his hands now balled at his side. The expression on his face served to steal away the last of Edge’s hope. Still, he had to try. They would get nowhere fast if they both gave in to fear. “Do you want to go back inside?”

Bono shook his head. “I’m tired, Edge.  _Tired_.”

Edge nodded. He knew that tired. It was the sort that bled through your skin to settle in your bones, and it lingered. He wasn’t sure how Bono could stand it. He wasn’t sure how either of them had managed for so long. Bono’s hand was so _cold_ against his. Something had to be done. Something . . .

Edge stroked Bono’s hand until it unfurled enough to grasp, and rubbed his fingers until they began to warm, but the trembling kept on. Berlin was starting to wake up, and the sounds of liberation were growing dimmer with each passing day.

Bono rested his cheek on Edge’s shoulder and sighed. He turned until his face was buried in Edge’s neck and moaned, “Take me home, Edge.”

This country was suffocating them.


	2. Make Me Stay A Little Bit Longer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* Hi all, presenting the second chapter of Matchstick Men that I've been working on instead of doing study. I'm proud of this one, I've fleshed out so much and it makes me so happy (and there's one moment that gave me far too many feels for one person to handle...IT'S YOUR OWN WRITING, CARINA, YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE FEELS) so yes, please enjoy. I'm not sure when I'll get around to the third chapter, only because...well, not just because of study but because chapter three is huge and there's a LOT of sex and I'm kinda scared. But I'll get there! For now, please enjoy this xxx

Edge had been young and stupid when he’d thought to ask the question, and he couldn’t quite recall what had spurred him on. He remembered, though, the look that Bono had given him after he’d leaned in to ask, “Do you think dying is like falling asleep?”

It had been a thought that sprung to mind, masquerading under the guise of urgency, and he’d not had the time to really think it through before the words had tumbled from his lips. 

They had barely talked about Iris, those first few years. There was a reason for that, Edge knew, even though he was sure that he would never truly understand why. Some hurts just cut too deeply, and those who had never experienced such pain were the lucky ones. He knew that much. He knew how fortunate he was.

He’d had no right to ask Bono that question.

Regret had come fast. Edge remembered that specific feeling of shame, just as easily as he remembered standing in the doorway and watching Bono, his feet on the couch, pen in his hand, fingers running through his hair. Completely oblivious to the fact that he was being watched. At least at first, anyway. The steady hum of the fan, the slide of his feet . . .

There were memories that Edge wished he could forget, others that he was sure had slipped away from him despite how important they might have been once upon a time, and then there were the ones that he was glad to keep, to hold on to so tightly—perhaps too tightly sometimes. He had never regretted leaving the doorway that night to cross the room. There had been times that he wished he could, but it just wasn’t in him. _Regret_ was rarely a word he knew in relation to Bono. But it still managed to rear its ugly head from time to time.

The silence had stretched on between them after the question had been asked, and without knowing how else to break it, Edge had added, “You know, how you never know when you’re falling asleep,” like it was the perfect way out of the hole that he had dug for himself. _Stupid_. He’d sat back in his chair. _Stupid._ He’d not been sure what to expect in retaliation. Anger? Sadness? Or a mixture of both? There had been a time when Bono had specialised in fiery grief better than anyone Edge knew, but it had been a while since he’d seen that particular emotion arise. It hadn’t been missed.

Bono had surprised him by staying silent as he thought it through, his eyes fixed to the ground, and the small smile that had graced his face upon looking up had been completely unexpected. “I hope so,” he’d said quietly.

It had occurred to Edge early on, the responsibility that had been thrust upon him. Later, far too late, he’d come to understand just how badly he could hurt a person if he wasn’t careful. He had an obligation to his loved ones, to those souls most important to him. To Bono.

“I hope so,” Bono had said, neither angry nor sad. Even after being cut so deep, still he turned to hope to help navigate him through his entire existence. Obligation had so many facets to it, yet there were some days when _protection_ was the only word that Edge saw, despite looking at life from every angle he could imagine.

It was all that he could think of after properly waking, once the early morning fog had left him. The shadows were only just starting to slip away from the room, and they had been late going to sleep, yet it quickly became apparent that he was done for the day. Destined to feel the grit of exhaustion burning behind his eyelids until the moment that he could slip back beneath the covers and overthink life in a way that kept him both wide awake and suffering.

He turned on the bedside lamp, but Bono didn’t wake. He always looked so much younger when he was asleep, his face unguarded, the lines smoothed out. It had been a while since Edge had been given the chance to just watch him like that, and it would likely be a while longer still until he was able to do so once again. He took it all in, the curl of Bono’s fingers on his pillow, the angles that had started to reappear in his face. He didn’t wake when Edge reached out a finger to brush against his cheekbone. He didn’t even stir. When was the last time he’d gotten a full eight hours? He was sleeping like the dead.

Edge nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone started to ring, rudely cutting through the still of the room. Bono shifted yet didn’t wake. The list of things that he needed in life was growing longer with each day that passed, and sleep was right at the very top. Edge snatched up the receiver before it could offend a second time, prepared to unleash if the person who had dared to make the call stepped even one foot wrong.

It was Ali, her voice far too bright for how early in the day it was. The anger that Edge felt quickly fled, the warmth that it left in its wake doing well to mask all that concern that kept his stomach turning and his gaze fixed in the only direction that he could think to look. “I’m sorry,” Ali said. “I know it’s early, but—”

“No, it’s fine. I was awake anyway.”

 “Were you now?” She huffed out a laugh that Edge didn’t quite buy. “Or have you not been to bed yet?”

“I can only imagine why you might think that of me, love.”

“Well, past experiences, you know.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Of course not,” she said before hesitating. Edge could easily picture her on the other end, holding a cup of tea in her hand as she cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder. He hoped that she had slept at least a little. “Anyway, I was just calling . . .”

He didn’t need to hear the rest. “Yeah, he’s here.”

 “Oh! Oh, well that’s good, I was just—” Ali laughed again, and still Edge didn’t buy it. “When I called the hotel they told me he’d checked out, and then his mobile phone was off, but—”

 “Sorry, it was kind of a last-minute thing last night, but he’s fine, Ali. Hogged the blankets half the night though.”

“He does that,” she murmured.

“Don’t I know it.”

 “Is he sleeping?”

“He is. I could—”

“No, let him sleep.” She sighed. “I’m just worried.”

“Yeah. I think he just needed a break, you know?” It had been relief that Edge had felt only a few hours beforehand, when Bono had slipped into the car beside him after the show. And Edge had half expected him to change his mind, to direct the driver back towards the airport, but nothing of the sort had happened. Bono had spent the entire trip back to the hotel just watching the city pass them by. But it hadn’t been a rash decision on his part. His suitcase had been by the couch when they had walked into Edge’s room.

There were times when stubbornness was the one thing holding Bono together, but it could only do so much. Eventually, something had to give. Even Bono knew when a break was needed—although that realization usually came a few days too late.

“It’s too much,” Ali said quietly, and Edge couldn’t disagree. He’d seen it all the night before. Bono had been distant on the drive back, silent on the journey up to Edge’s room, but it had all slipped away once the door had closed behind them.

 “I know.” He didn’t know what else to say. What _could_ he say? They both knew the score. They both knew what it felt like to be helpless. He listened to her breathing change from harsh to soft.

“How is the hotel?” Ali asked eventually. It wasn’t them. They had left small talk behind years beforehand. But it was needed on such a day. What else could they talk about? There was nothing more to say on the matter.

They fell into pleasantries far too easily, Edge describing the bathroom walls to her like blue marble was the most important topic of the day, Ali laughing in all the right places, and when they said their goodbyes Edge wasn’t quite ready to leave it all behind. It was a familiarity that he needed. Small talk wasn’t them, yet it still had made him feel like everything would be alright. He listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before hanging up the phone, and then it was back to quiet.

It had been a couple of weeks since he’d last seen Ali, and after the hugs and kisses, after the _how are you, really?_ that was inevitable, she’d been quick to hand John over to him before sitting down. She was always beautiful, yet on that morning there had been a tiredness to her face that Edge hadn’t been able to look past. But when he’d suggested she go and have a lie down, Ali had just smiled that mystery smile of hers before leaning over to rest her head on Edge’s shoulder. John had been content in his arms.

“You’ve got a way about you, you know,” she had said. “Look at him. He knows it too. He can sense that aura of calm you’re always emitting. He’s feeding from it.” Her laughter had trickled out of her. “Like father like son, I suppose.”

They had stayed like that for a while, watching through the window as Bono and the girls kicked a ball around outside. There had been grass stains on his knees, his hair a mess from the sea breeze that refused to leave them, and the grin on his face had turned into laughter only when the girls had started to shriek with it first.

Ali had looked away from the window when John started to stir. She’d smiled and touched his tiny fingers with her own, but her face had turned serious when she’d glanced up at Edge. For a moment, they had just looked at each other, and then she had said, “You look so worn.”

Edge hadn’t expected it. He’d not been ready to hear those words directed his way. Rushing from his chest to his throat had been a burst of emotion that he had struggled to keep internalized. “I’m okay,” he had finally managed.

Ali had simply nodded in response, but Edge knew that she’d always been able to see right through him.

Bono’s fingers were warm against his, his smile faint. He was still soft with sleep. “How did she sound?”

Edge squeezed his hand. “She’s fine, B.”

“Good,” Bono said. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s good.”

After ordering room service Bono went to take a shower, leaving Edge to play a twofold waiting game. With little else to do but think, he found himself wandering through the suite, picking up a book to flick through before setting it back down, turning on the television to wash away the silence of the room.

Through the window he could stare down at the street below. It brought him right back to another time, when he’d looked out of a similar window and seen grey skies and scattered people all dressed alike. It had been a different window, a different city, but the grey was there and the country was the same. All that was missing was the cigarette between his fingers.

A decade had passed, yet he could still clearly remember the relief that he had felt when Bono had come up behind him to wrap his arms around Edge’s neck, his damp hair smelling like home.

“What can I do?” Bono’s voice had been a low rasp, too much use, not enough rest. Another thing that Edge had felt guilty for. He’d been the cause of it all. A knock on the door before the sun had risen, a search for answers that Bono just hadn’t been equipped to deal with. He had known comfort though. Edge had turned his head to breathe in the scent of Bono’s aftershave. Home. “Edge, what can I do?”

He’d asked Bono to stay.

They ate scrambled eggs and drank black coffee in front of the television, catching only a few seconds of each channel as Bono flicked through in search of something that only he could know. Eventually, he landed back on the morning news. It was all in German, of course, a language of which Edge only had a limited understanding, but the images helped paint a picture that was just more of the same shit, different day. He cleared their dishes away before leaving Bono there on the couch, where he was too quiet, too still.

In the shower Edge kept the water as hot as he could bear. “I’ll be quick,” he had said to Bono before walking away, and he had meant it, yet he still found himself lingering beneath the water for far too long. The room was filled with steam when he finally did step out.

He dried himself quickly before wrapping the towel around his waist, wiping the mirror with his palm after brushing his teeth. His reflection stared back at him, skin red from the heat of the water, his face one giant question mark. _What can I do?_ He pressed his finger against his chest and watched the white appear and then slowly fade.

By the time Edge left the bathroom Bono had put on a shirt and climbed back into bed, his left arm wrapped tightly around his chest while his right hand held a cigarette. It was a non-smoking room, but Edge didn’t dare try and remind Bono of that. He knew.

His eyes followed Edge as he crossed the room to go rummage through his suitcase for a clean outfit. There was static in the room. Edge recognized it clearly. The silence continued even after he turned around to find Bono with a sullen expression on his face. Something had to be said, but what? Edge just didn’t know. He zipped up his jeans before sitting down on the chair, raising an eyebrow when Bono took another drag.

He’d been saying for months that he’d given up, but before that when he’d been trying to kick it the standard response had been a grumbled, “Well, I don’t inhale.” It was the same thing that he’d said when they were younger, paired with a grin and a wink, and Edge had rolled his eyes all the same. He didn’t have to tell Bono that he could taste it still whenever they kissed. They both knew.

“What?”

Edge shook his head as he slipped on his second shoe. “Nothin’,” he said before leaning down to tie his laces.

“Where are you going?”

“Just out for a bit.”

Bono stubbed his cigarette out on a saucer. It was probably too much to hope that it didn’t stain. “Truly a man of many words, The Edge.”

Another cigarette was lit, a stream of smoke blown through the air. It felt like the beginning of any interrogation that Edge had seen in the movies. “I’m just going for a walk, Bono. To get a bit of air, alright?”

Bono rubbed at his mouth. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Go.”

Edge paused. “Do you want to come along?”

“No. Thank you.”

It didn’t feel right. But Edge wasn’t sure what else to do. What could he do? He shrugged on a jacket before searching for his baseball cap. “It’s still early, you know.”

Bono barked out a laugh. “Jesus, Edge, I’d barely noticed.”

Edge frowned up at him. “No, I mean that there’s still a few hours before people are going to start wanting you for this and that. Maybe you should get some more sleep.” He checked to make sure his room key card was in his wallet before slipping it into his pocket. “It’ll do you good, B.”

“I’m meant to be in Dublin.”

Edge sighed. “But you’re not, and when people find that out, well.” He shrugged. “There’s always something they need you for.”

“Mmm,” Bono let out before stubbing his cigarette and pushing the saucer towards the centre of the bedside table. He was quick to turn away from Edge, rubbing his fingers as he looked towards the window, leaving Edge with that familiar conflicted feeling.

It had hit him suddenly as he’d stood there in front of the bathroom mirror, waiting for his skin to turn. Splashing his face with cold water hadn’t done a damn thing, so he’d just gripped at the sink until he’d been able to draw in a full breath. It hadn’t come easy.

“Edge?”

“What is it?”

“Stay,” Bono said. That was all it took. One simple word, and Edge’s mind was made up.

He closed the bedroom door before taking his hat off and slipping off his shoes. Bono watched him until he was close enough to touch, their clothes ending up in a pile on the floor, and he could taste the smokes when they kissed but it didn’t matter. Edge just pulled him closer still, and they both ignored the phone as it rang and rang. Eventually, it had to stop. _Stay_ , Bono had said. It was all that Edge could do. The slide of Bono’s hand, the way his voice curved with that first touch . . .

There was nowhere else that Edge wanted to be.

 _When did you know,_ he had asked Bono a lifetime ago, and Bono had responded, _I’ve always known_ , a whisper in his ear. _I was born knowing you, Edge_.

It was later in the morning when Edge found himself standing naked by the window, smiling down at what he saw. It was a different scene than earlier, more people in more colours, the sun casting perfect shadows along the street, the grey long gone. He watched for a bit longer before turning back towards the bed.

Bono was facing him, his hand curled by his face on the pillow, the sheet riding low against his thigh. The lines on his face were smoothed out, his breathing even. It was how he had to stay, at least for a few hours more. Edge would make sure of it.

He left the window and returned to bed, stretching out on his back at first, until the urge became too great and he had to roll over, watching Bono’s back rise and fall until Edge could match him, breath for breath. He reached out a hand only when he couldn’t stand the distance a second longer, keeping his touch light as he slowly trailed from Bono’s shoulder to his thigh, and then back up a little until he reached the jut of a hipbone. It was where his hand stayed as he lay there, listening to Bono breathe.

The _do not disturb_ sign was hanging on the door handle, the phone off the hook. It was how it had to be, and for the first time all morning Edge didn’t have to cling to hope. He was certain that Bono would sleep for hours.

 

* * *

 

Edge awoke feeling warm, in a way that rolled over him gently at first before becoming overbearing. The covers were pushed away, the cool of the room making him immediately regret ever doing such a thing. Could anyone ever be too warm in the middle of winter? He couldn’t dive back under, however. Not yet. His bladder was calling to him, and his stomach was close to joining in. Comfort was quickly becoming a distant memory. He stretched his back until he heard the _pop_ , then leaned over to flick on the lamp before planting his feet against the carpet.

The bed he straightened until it looked like it had when they’d arrived—at a late hour that became later still by the time they made it through the city—and his suitcase he shifted into the corner where it was well out of the way. He knew that Bono didn’t mind. In fact, nearly forty years of experience had shown Edge that Bono rarely registered a messy room at all. Trash it, set it on fire, it made no difference to him. As long as there was a bed to fall into when his battery ran too low, or when he wasn’t alone, then Bono was fine with anything. But Edge had always been a firm believer in occupying a guest bedroom in the way that it should be occupied, though sometimes that self-imposed rule was forgotten after a night out on the town. Or if he was the one falling into bed alongside Bono. Rules were made to be broken, after all.

In the bathroom Edge used the toilet before washing his hands and then his face. He still felt a bit slow in both mind and body, but at least his head had stopped pounding.

It had been just before two am when he’d checked his phone, and he’d not remembered much more after that until he’d awoken in time to see the sun come up. He’d prowled the apartment quietly, clad only in his bathrobe and socks, before settling down by the window with toast and a strong cup of coffee, watching New York turn from grey to golden. It hadn’t been long after when Bono had joined him, bleary-eyed but wearing a smile, holding a mug in each hand. Tea instead of coffee, no sugar and only the barest hint of milk in Edge’s. It had been exactly what he’d needed.

Out on the balcony he’d watched the traffic down below while Bono dozed on the couch, faring all of four minutes outside before the cold had become too oppressive. The warmth of his bed had started to call him, and he’d been glad for it. The dishes he’d set in the sink before leaving Bono on the couch to go shower and shave. It had been all he’d managed to do before his pounding head forced him to admit defeat and climb back into bed, the warmth enveloping him in such a way that he’d wondered how he’d ever been able to leave it in the first place.

The apartment was warm now, the heat turned up on high. Bono was nowhere to be seen, however, and in his absence lingered a silence that was oddly unsettling. Edge checked the main bedroom and then the study, coming up empty both times, but when he trudged into the kitchen he spotted the note immediately, scrawled in red and written like it was almost an afterthought. He read it twice before shaking his head. Sometimes, Edge found himself wishing that he had Bono’s energy and drive. Mostly, though, he was just glad to keep his feet on the ground.

It was a quick decision, selecting the right music from Bono’s collection to rid the apartment of all that silence— _OK Computer_ , an album that always dragged Edge right on back to when he’d first listened to it, when it had been the soundtrack of his life for those precious few weeks in ’97.

“We’re in trouble,” Bono had said during that first listen. “Listen to this. What the fuck are we even doing, Edge?”

“Something different to this. Different is good, B,” Edge had insisted, though he’d been threatened all the same. On the second listen it had become white noise in the background. A whispered suggestion in his ear, lips against his neck, two strong thighs parting just for him _, it’s gonna be a glorious day_ . . .

There were so many albums that Edge could associate with Bono. It only took one song and then he was right back there, to wherever it had happened. Bono’s bed. A hotel room. Berlin. France. Here. Everywhere. It was truly incredible how the human brain worked, that one song, one album could make him remember so much.

Edge sang along to the music as he boiled an egg and made another cup of tea before settling down at the table. He checked his emails while he ate, pleased to find that there was nothing that required his urgent attention. After finishing eating he pushed his plate aside and sat there for a while longer, letting the music wash over him. He loved Bono’s apartment, loved the grey and the light of it.

It was different being the only one home. How long had it been since he’d just been able to sit back and look around? Since he’d been able to admire the lines and wonder how it had all come about? Usually the apartment was full of life, loud voices and an abundance of laughter, of warmth and love. He couldn’t remember the last time it had been just the two of them. They had the entire week together, and Edge knew that he wasn’t alone in being glad about that.

The sound of his phone vibrating against the wood of the table was almost missed over the music. Displayed on the screen was a number that Edge didn’t recognize.

He was on the street and inside a cab in minutes, the address tumbling out of him as he struggled with his seatbelt. It was only after they had pulled into heavy traffic that clarity started to return, yet all he could focus on was his dirty plate that was still sitting on the dining room table. He’d not had time to soak it. He’d dripped egg yolk all over Ali’s beautiful plate and just left it like that. Would it stain? Would she even care? She was still halfway around the world.

Through the window he watched the people walking by, bundled up against the cold in their thick coats and scarves and gloves, carrying on through life with their own problems crowding their minds. She didn’t know.

His phone slipped from his grasp and slid across the seat, and it was only when Edge reached out for it that he noticed how much his hand was shaking.

 

* * *

 

The streets of Madison passed them by quickly, becoming nothing more than a blur to Edge whenever he tried to focus. Buildings and streetlamps rushing together, people in groups and others alone, and the streak of headlights as cars kept up to them, pulled ahead or were left behind. He couldn’t make sense of it. It hurt his head to even try. And when he closed his eyes, the faces of the front row were right there at the forefront of his mind, their eyes lit up and their teeth flashing as they screamed. It was a streak that he hoped would continue for a few shows longer, at least.

“Chicago loves us,” Adam had tried to reassure them during soundcheck, and Edge hadn’t been able to dispute it. It had been the truth, yet he knew how much could change in four years. But he’d seen Bono’s face before the show that night and the spark that came after, a spark that reassured Edge more than he cared to admit. They had a day in between stops to keep the momentum going. A day until they could discover whether Chicago’s love for them had been left in the past.

He could feel the gaze burning into the back of his head, silently demanding his attention. It was a struggle to hold out, and Edge gave in far too quickly. When he turned his head he was greeted with a knowing grin.

“I’ve always wanted to swim in the lakes here, you know,” Bono said, and Edge had to smile. Bono’s tone had almost been wistful, as though he’d been given so many chances in the past to dive right on in, but wasted them all. It had been a long time since Edge had lost count of all the other things that Bono had always wanted to do until he forgot. By now, surely that number must have been in the thousands. Once his feet hit the tarmac in Chicago, however, the lakes of Madison would become a distant memory until the next time that they flew in. Edge was sure of it. “Thinking, The Edge?”

 “Mmhmm.”

It was clear that Bono found the answer lacking in some way. Clear, because they had been there before, countless times. Edge would never admit it, but he enjoyed seeing Bono when he was desperate for clarification. It started this time with him rubbing his neck before running a hand over his head like he still had some hair to fiddle with. And then out came the smile, starting off gentle before quickly turning, a look that settled warm and low in Edge’s belly. Bono knew it too. He always knew.

There was a party in their name back at the hotel, where there would be too many eyes on them and not enough time. They were close to marching straight into dangerous territory. It was hard to care, though, when all Edge could focus on was the sharp line of Bono’s jaw. He had to remind himself that the front section of the vehicle was occupied by those who heard and saw everything.

Finally, Bono relented, rolling his eyes as he asked, “What’re you thinking about?”

“ _Juuust_ thinkin’.”

Out came that smile again, tinged with the faintest hint of frustration. There was still a slight shine to Bono’s chest, a remnant of the concert. He’d come off stage grinning wide, the thrill of the show leaving him floating like he was high, and the glazed expression in his eyes had reminded Edge of how he looked while being fucked.

He didn’t have to close his eyes to imagine it. In fact, it was better if he didn’t. Edge was already halfway through planning their night together as they stared at each other. Bono on his back with his lips parted, the flush of pink at his neck and the bead of sweat that trailed down his temple to blemish the pillowcase. “We should skip the party tonight.”

Bono raised an eyebrow. “Should we now?”

“We should. We definitely should,” Edge said before pausing. “But we can’t, can we?”

“You’re the one telling the story, Edge.”

Edge shook his head. “No. It would be terribly rude of us, I would think.”

Bono’s hand came down warm against Edge’s, his palm clammy and his fingers loose. It was a bastard move. “Oh, it would,” Bono agreed with a wink. “I’m so glad to hear you say that, actually. For a moment there, I thought I might have to stand up and be the voice of reason.”

He kept his touch light and simple, just his fingertips brushing back and forth over Edge’s knuckles, his thumb stirring the hair at his wrist.

It was how he might have touched Edge before Lovetown, back when they both had denied it until they were drunk enough to reach for the others hand and pretend like it was less than it was, that it was normal, before going about life as though it had never happened. Until the next time that it had. Edge had relived those moments on his own sometimes in a bed that could fit two, and for a while there the memory of Bono’s fingers against his, and the simple drag of his own hand had been enough for him. Until it hadn’t.

He had told Bono later, maybe two years, three years after Lovetown. He had told Bono about those nights, how he had shaped those moments into something more, something that was close to satisfaction. And Bono had simply smiled at him before taking Edge’s hand between his and kissing his palm, his wrist, his neck. Those lips had brushed against Edge’s ear, and Bono’s voice had stayed low as he spoke, as he asked, _what took you so long?_ A question that they both had known the answer to, yet Edge had still lied, responding with, _I don’t know, I was an idiot_ , and it had been worth it for how Bono had reacted. It had been more than a smile; his warmth had been overwhelming. _You amaze me, Edge._

They were almost at the hotel, and Bono’s fingers were still tangled with his. When Edge glanced back, though, he found Bono blank-faced with his gaze straight on, even as he gave Edge’s hand a squeeze. They stayed like that until the murmurs from the front started up again and it was safe to act, but before Edge could do anything Bono was leaning in close, his voice low as he asked, “Would you fuck me tonight?”

 

* * *

 

 “Oh, for fuck sake,” Bono muttered before turning to briefly struggle with the lock. The door swung shut behind him, and Edge held it closed with his palm, counting to five, then changing his mind and going for ten—just to be sure—before slipping out himself.

Once outside of the toilet he leaned back against the door, searching for the moment of peace that was desperately needed. When nothing eventuated, he turned his attention down the aisle, looking for the beacon of light that was Bono’s hair. _Reminiscent of a lightning rod in a storm_ , Adam had put it delicately. Larry, on the other hand, had never been one for delicate. But Bono’s hair had still been soft against Edge’s fingers that first day, and his smile had been even brighter.

Bono wasn’t in his seat, and Edge wasn’t surprised. He shuffled down the aisle, slow while Bono had wanted fast, but they both knew that sometimes Edge just couldn’t help himself. Bono didn’t turn when Edge paused by his elbow. He just kept looking towards the clouds. Ignoring Edge in that pointedly obvious way that he had mastered a lifetime ago.

Larry was watching them both from the seat behind Bono, something close to interest gracing his face. He removed his earbuds and sat forward, clearly anticipating some sort of fireworks, but all he got was a dirty look before Edge continued on down the aisle.

There was a book in Adam’s hand that he wasn’t reading and a smile on his face that grew wider when Edge slumped into the seat next to him. He leaned in close before Edge could mentally prepare himself for whatever was about to come. “Were you aware,” Adam said, “that Bono is in fact not made out of glass?”

For a moment, Edge just stared at him, but that smile refused to fade away. “You heard that?” he managed. Adam just laughed. And there it went, that moment of peace, lost to the clouds when Edge needed it the most. He glanced around at all those familiar faces. Had they heard too? Were they also anticipating fireworks?

“It’s alright.” Adam had meant it to sound soothing, no doubt, but it just missed the mark. “It just so happened that I was nearby stretching my legs.” He patted Edge’s knee a couple of times before leaving his hand there to rest. “You know he’s right though.”

“I know that,” Edge shot back far too quickly, and Adam didn’t look entirely convinced. “It’s just . . . he usually bounces.”

Adam nodded. “I know. But look at him now. He did bounce, Edge,” he said with a smile. “It just took a bit longer this time.”

 

* * *

 

 It was a strange feeling, knowing that you were being lied to. It definitely was not something that Edge enjoyed nor encouraged, and yet still he found himself smiling right on back at Bono like he was expected to. There was no way that he could call Bono out on the lie, he knew. In the right moment, Bono always believed the words that he was saying.

Finally, Edge relented, saying, “Alright,” and regretting it when Ali’s lips thinned. He could only imagine what she was thinking. “Thanks.” It wasn’t what he’d wanted to say, but it was worth it for the way that Bono’s smile grew. A moment of weakness on Edge’s part, something that was so typical of him. He stood there in the mud as Bono took Ali’s hand in his own.

“Shall we?” Bono didn’t wait for an answer. He just turned and walked away with Ali quick at his side, leaving Edge behind. There was no anger on Ali’s face when she looked back, though, just a smile that Edge had seen before far too many times.

She had never said anything, yet sometimes Edge was sure that she knew how he felt.

Before leaving, she always pulled Edge into a tight hug, kissing his cheek and cupping his chin until he had to smile at her. She had always been smarter than them all, and on some days when she refused to leave his side until she saw the smile, Edge couldn’t help but wonder if it was her way of saying sorry. For getting there first, for offering Bono more, for being stronger than Edge ever could. _Oh honey_ , he imagined her saying, _why can’t you just tell him? What’s the worst that could happen?_

And then there were the other days when Edge saw nothing of the sort on her face, when the only reason why she needed to see that smile of his was because her mission in life was to make sure that the people she cared about were happy, Edge included. _Oh honey_ , he imagined her saying on those other days, _I wish I knew why you looked so sad sometimes. I wish you would tell us why._

 He stood there in the mud and watched them walk away.

Bono had said to him, “I won’t”, yet they had barely made it through half a set before he changed his mind, forcing Edge to crane his neck upward until he couldn’t stand to look anymore. Instead, he glanced back down to watch his own fingers shift and the crowd surge at their feet, and he didn’t look up until well after Bono had come back down to earth.

The next morning Ali told him, “We have to stick together, you and I,” and when Edge rubbed at his neck and laughed she just smiled before pulling him close. A kiss against his cheek, soft fingers cupping his chin, that look on her face. Her eyes turned warmer still when Edge smiled down at her, and then she was gone.

He watched them go, hand in hand, waving until the car was lost in traffic. And then he really was alone, standing by the road without a single clue of what to do next. Briefly, he considered joining Adam in the bar to do some serious soul searching, and then that idea was overrun by the thought of continuing on down the road and onwards until he got turned around, lost in a city he barely knew. Both scenarios seemed like far too much effort on a hot day though, so eventually he just gave up and headed back inside.

Upstairs, he sat by the window and watched the traffic down below until the silence became too much to handle. On the television he found an old black and white movie that was neither too loud nor too quiet—as Goldilocks would say, it was _juuust_ right. The perfect white noise to keep him company as he stretched out on the bed and tried to think of other things, important things, _life_ things. He tried until finally he had to give in.

The knock came far sooner than Edge had anticipated. He sat up fast and wiped his mouth and the grit from his eyes before staring blankly at the television. He was sure that he’d been dreaming. Dark hair, bright eyes. It had been Aislinn. He was almost certain. Another knock came, forcing him from the bed. He flicked the television off as he passed, knowing exactly who was behind the door even before he opened it.

There was a smile on Bono’s face, yet he still looked drained—no doubt the prolonged goodbye had taken it all out of him. It was always the same at the airport, Ali trying to walk away and then laughing when she was pulled back in for one more kiss. “Do you want to do something?” Bono asked.

They stuck to the shade as they walked the streets, until the heat became too much and respite was needed. It was a McDonalds that they found themselves in, at a time when it was too late for lunch yet still too early for dinner. With borrowed napkins they wiped the sweat away before pooling their spare change together, and Bono stayed put while Edge went up and ordered. One large shake to share, two straws, chocolate flavoured—though Edge had always preferred vanilla. They had more than enough money for so much more, but Bono had other ideas. He let Edge have the final sip, sitting back in his chair and drumming his fingers on the table as he looked around. “I don’t know how they can stand it.”

“The heat?” Edge shrugged. “I suppose it’s what they’re used to.” Bono sighed like he had expected a different answer, but it was all that Edge had to give. “Chocolate again?”

“Whatever you want, Edge.”

Edge came back from the counter with another chocolate shake and a borrowed pen to keep them amused. They played Hangman on napkins until the sun finally disappeared behind the clouds, and they were able to safely walk out into the open without fear of heat exhaustion. Before they left Edge bought them a cheeseburger each and fries to share.

There was nowhere else that they had to be. No one expected them until morning. They could go at their own pace, and they did, taking it slow as they walked back, briefly stopping in at a liquor store the next street over from their hotel. The fries were gone by the time they made it back, and they polished off their burgers whilst sitting on the edge of the pool with their feet in the water, the bottle of vodka between them hidden still in its brown paper bag.

Edge watched the kids splash around in the other end as he listened to Bono speak. It was just tour talk at first, thoughts and ideas that trickled away as he went off on a tangent—about what? About everything. It was always the things that popped into Bono’s head out of nowhere, the things that had to be said there and then that Edge enjoyed hearing the most.

He hid his smile behind the bottle as he drank, watching the children climb out of the pool ahead. Bono meandered back into talking about setlists, and he had big plans _, it would make so much more sense, Edge, don’t you think_? The mother was there with towels ready, looking their way only as she ushered the kids towards the gate. She smiled when Bono raised a hand before quickly turning away. The gate shut behind them with a clang, and then they were alone.

“It’ll be dark soon,” Edge said.

Bono looked at him, wearing a smile that could mean anything. “The night is for us, Edge.”

 His shirt came off, his shoes and socks and then his jeans, piled together away from the pool. Clad only in his underwear, Bono disappeared beneath the water and returned to the surface only when he was gasping for breath. “Come in with me,” he insisted. “Edge, come on. It’ll cool you down.”

“No,” Edge said, then, “I’ll think about it.” For now, he was just happy to sit there and watch Bono swim, and drink and drink until his limbs started to feel loose and the warmth rolled through his body in a different way to the heat in the air. He watched Bono swim away from him and then back towards him, kicking away the hand that found his ankle and tried to tug him down. He couldn’t fight the laughter that bubbled out of him, that forced itself from his chest when Bono started to laugh right on back. “Leave me alone.”

“No.” Bono shook his head wildly, flicking water everywhere. “I could never think of doing such a thing. Leave you alone? Don’t be ridiculous. Come on, Edge, the water is fine.”

It looked better than fine. Still, Edge waited until the outside lights flickered on before setting his clothes aside and slipping into the water. It was too cold at first, and then it was perfect. Why hadn’t he jumped in sooner? The water was better than fine. It was exactly what he needed surrounding him. He didn’t want to swim though. He wasn’t sure if he could handle swimming. The warmth he still felt couldn’t be fixed by the water. And when Bono crowded him against the side of the pool, wearing a smile that was almost too much, all Edge could think to do was smile back.

“You know you shouldn’t drink before swimming,” Bono teased as he snaked one hand over Edge’s shoulder. The other hand he used to steady himself, a flat palm against Edge side that lingered as he brought the bottle to his lips, that stayed where it was even after the bottle had been set back down.

Edge insisted, “I’m not drunk,” and he wasn’t. He still had his wits about him. He was able to pinpoint the exact moment that Bono’s smile changed, and wonder why it did. There were so many questions that he had, that he’d never be able to ask. Questions that would forever go unanswered because he just, he couldn’t. There was no way. He knew the score.

But when Bono’s leg brushed against his own, Edge couldn't pretend as though he felt anything else but glad for it. Glad that he still had his wits about him, that he’d be able to return home and look Aislinn in the eye and mean it. And of course he was glad to know what it felt like, and not for the first time, when Bono’s skin touched his own. Yet another moment—to join the countless how many others there were—that he could categorize and file away in his memory for when it was next needed. Only a memory, nothing more. He still would be able to look Aislinn in the eye without having to scramble for the right way to excuse his actions.

“Just comfortable, are we?” Bono asked. He was too close. His hair was dripping down his shoulders, plastered to his forehead. A mess that Edge wanted to brush away, but he resisted the urge. He kept his hand down at his side, and slowly Bono’s smile started to fade.

“Something like that.”

That fading smile turned into a smirk as Bono pushed himself away from the side, keeping his gaze on Edge as he went. “Something like that,” Bono echoed. “You amaze me, Edge.”

“Why?”

Bono shrugged. “You just do.”

They tracked water through the lobby, wet footprints on cream carpeting. Edge smiled at the lady behind the desk as they passed. It wasn’t returned. For good reason, he figured. 

“The really should consider supplying towels by the poolside,” Bono said as they entered the lift, shaking his head as he reached past Edge to select the wrong floor number. “We look like a couple of drowned rats.”

They lost their damp clothes in Edge’s hotel room, wrapping themselves in white towels that were more scratchy than soft, but at least they were dry. Bono filled two mugs to the brim with vodka, one eyebrow raised as he handed Edge his share. “Drink up,” he said. “You deserve it.”

They sat by the window and looked out at the glittering lights of the city. Down below Edge could easily see the pool, not quite glittering, but still lit up. He would have happily stayed in the water a bit longer. They could have stayed there all night and into the morning, just the two of them. “She’d be well over the ocean by now,” Bono said. It was the first time he’d mentioned Ali since knocking on Edge’s door. His gaze stayed on the sky even as he drank, but it wasn’t sadness that Edge saw. He wasn’t sure what it was.

He rolled the mug between his palms, watching the vodka swirl. “We’ll be home soon.” It wasn’t all that he wanted to say. No, there had been things that had seemed important not ten minutes before, things that he just couldn’t say out loud.

Bono turned away from the window to look at him. “Are you excited?”

 “Of course.”

 “Well,” Bono said with a barely-there smile, “let’s drink to that, shall we?”

They had an early start the next morning. Edge was determined to keep reminding himself of that fact, even as he finished his mug and reached for the bottle, as he suggested they go back out and swim some more. They had an early start, but the water was calling to him. It wasn’t the only thing. He didn’t know what to think. All he knew was that when Bono shook his head and laughed, it made Edge want to grasp the night and hold on tightly. It was theirs. Wasn’t that what Bono had said? The night was for them. Edge didn’t want it to end. And it wasn’t as though they were doing anything special or new or breaking those rules, the rules that only Edge knew about— _number one: don’t do it, he can’t know, he can’t_. No, it was just a night like so many others. But he still didn’t want it to end. He reached for the bottle again and Bono laughed some more. They had an early start, but who cared when the night was only just beginning?

He ended up stretched out on the bed, watching the ceiling fan turn and turn, spinning through his mind. All he could smell was chlorine. He was pretty certain that getting up and going to shower was the next step he had to take in life, but the will to move had left him a while back. The bed dipped at his side, and when Edge turned his head he found Bono smiling down at him. He was always looking down recently. And Edge was always looking up, looking too far up in the distance and wondering: was this the day that it all came crashing down? How far could a person fall before a broken body turned into something more permanent?

“You alright?” Bono asked.

 “M’fine.”

“That last bit hit you quick, didn’t it?” Bono chuckled. His mug was still in his hand, still a quarter full. It was all a bit unfair really. They had an early start. They had a show tomorrow night, and Edge couldn’t stand the thought of it. “I think—”

“Don’t,” Edge cut in. And there it was. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure how to continue, still he’d managed to make a start. The smile hadn’t left Bono’s face. It kept on even after Edge touched his thigh. “You need to stop. Stop doing it. Before you hurt yourself. You’re gonna hurt yourself, alright?”

Bono shook his head, but his smile had turned completely. “Edge.”

“It scares the shit out of me.” Edge had never been able to get that far before. It hadn’t felt like something he could ever say, words that seemed so much bigger than what they actually were. But now that they were out in the open, Edge thought that he might be able to move mountains now, if only for a moment. He could do so much. He had made that smile disappear from Bono’s face. He could move mountains. He could make Bono stop.

Bono stayed quiet for a while, rubbing his mouth as he looked at Edge, and then touching his hair, his neck as he looked anywhere but. The silence stretched on, and when Bono did finally look back his smile was easy, but his eyes told a different story entirely. Edge had learned early on never to trust a smile when it came to Bono. There was no way that he could call the lie, though. In the right moment, Bono always believed what he was selling to be true.

“Edge,” Bono said quietly, “I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
